This Is The Epilogue
by 1105-SecondsStandingStill
Summary: Alfred Jones is a thirteen-year-old killer out on his usual run. But his newest target, a lonely straying Brit by the name of Arthur Kirkland, stirs in him something he thought he no longer had, setting the stage for an outcome neither could foresee. This is a non-romantic two-shot that involves character death. You have been warned.


**a/n; So this was originally going to be a one-shot meant as a birthday present for my friend, but since it took so long to write it is now a Christmas present instead (and two-shot, I think). I have no idea when the second part will be written, but hopefully it won't take more than a year like last time (I make absolutely no promises, however).**

**Also, I would highly recommend listening to "A Thirteen-Year-Old Killer" by Kagamine Rin whilst reading this, as it's what inspired the fic in the first place. This should also tell you exactly where this fic is going…and now, somehow, I feel like apologizing. ;w;**

{~~[Warning: This fanfiction does not have a happy ending. Stop reading this if you're the type of person who can't handle multiple character death. Thank you.]~~}

_I don't know where the world begins. I don't know where it ends._

The moon is reflecting the whitewashed sunlight upon the rough and untamed ground, the stolen and mirrored light I use to see by as I stomp along a never-used path. The woods are dim this late in the evening, so far after dark, but that suits me and my _activities_ perfectly fine. A rustle of the wind, a snapping of a branch, and I spin my head around, a cold mixture of nerves and suspicion encircling the pit of my stomach. My blond hair tickles my face in the breeze, my blue eyes darting from shadow to shadow, searching for anyone who may have followed me, seen me. There was no one.

I sigh. Despite it being my choice, I was always a little nervous after _playtime._ I never had any qualms about _playing _myself, but if anyone were to catch me… I swallowed.

Death would look beautiful and flawless in comparison to what would await me if I was caught.

I shake my head, a rebellious cowlick bouncing animatedly about as I do so. I shouldn't think about that. I couldn't think about that. All I could think about now was going home. 'Home' being the back alley between a greasy butcher shop and a two-bit tailor, as it has been since the day I was born, but it was the only choice an orphan like me had in such a secluded town. What else could one do when their mother abandoned them at birth and no one else wants to take in her 'garbage'?

I frown and continue walking on. What was that phrase I heard the butcher's wife use a while back? 'No use crying over spilt milk.' That's what it was. The damage was already done – 'Mother' had deemed me 'unwanted,' and as with all unwanted things in this world, I was thrown away. Such was life, my life, an unending caricature of the cruelty mankind could express. Everything that was 'unwanted,' 'unusable,' 'unclean,' had to go. If it was broken, it had to be disposed of. If it was dirty, it should be hidden and suppressed. If the 'normal' way of life was threatened, it could not be allowed to exist.

But I suppose that is just the way things are, though I do sometimes wish it could have been different. Didn't my mother feel anything when she left me there? No love? No remorse? No guilt for leaving her child to die?

Or did she feel relieved? Did she know, even then, that this was what I would turn into? Was she relieved to be rid of such a gruesome child?

My bare feet squish along the 'path' I am treading, crushing the slightly damp grass and staining my heels with dirt. It's already October, I note, and the air has become a lot cooler as of late, making me shiver in my thin white tank top and khaki shorts. I look at my clothes and frown, making a mental note not to wear them after today. It's too cold anyway, and the stains are already starting to set in. Guess I would have to throw them away, after all, which really kind of sucked because I really liked these clothes. It's lucky I live next to an unsuccessful tailor who threw out most of his things that didn't sell.

The wind howls, rearing its head like a monster in the night as it picks up, lifting the fallen leaves scattered about the trees. The gold and red corpses fly into the air, tossed carelessly by a formless beast that saw fit to rampage in the night, tearing up everything in its path. I clench my right hand, tightening the grip I had on the wooden handle of my _toy_, smiling.

Yes, I am lucky, luckier than many a child who found themselves on the street, for I was provided for. The tailor threw out clothes for me to use. The butcher threw away meat for me to eat. The trashcan in the alley way provided shelter from the rain and snow, a place to sleep at night. And when all of that couldn't satisfy me, I found it easy enough to sneak into the butcher's shop through a hole in the alley wall, to keep me entertained.

For the butcher had many nice _toys _laying around, and surely he wouldn't mind if I borrowed one or two to have fun with and play _games_?

I turn and walk away, down the path that is not there, towards the small and secluded town that I have never really called 'home.' The dead leaves crunch beneath my feet, some sticking just as the dirt did to the liquid on my heels. I swing my arms back and forth, watching the moonlight glint off of the edge of my _toy_, the red sprinkling the ground as I walk, like a staccato display of morbidly-crafted fireworks. I laugh, unbridled and unquiet, at myself and at the world. I laugh as I mock the wind, howling like a wounded beast, angry and suffering as it attempts to strike at everything its whispered breath can reach. Such a silly thing – surely it already knows that I am far more of a monster than it could ever be?

A twisted smirk stretches across my face, and in my good mood I decide to skip just a little on the rest of the way home, humming a tuneless song into the night air. Once I washed the blood from my face and hands with the puddle water of the back alley, I would be ready to begin searching for a new _playmate._

{~~[x]~~}

Things are different every day, yet they are very much the same. Each day we wake, go about our lives, go to work, go out with friends, sit by ourselves, or just do nothing. Then, each day we go to sleep, our heads filled with succulent dreams or vicious nightmares, and when the sun chooses to wake us the process begins again. Whatever we do for the in-between period of the day, the beginning and end are always the same – to wake and to sleep. Same, yet different.

It is like that for me as well. Every day I will wake, just as everyone else does, and go about my morning routine just like everyone else. I'll crawl out of the trash can that serves as my home/bed/place-I-hide-in-to-escape-angry-dogs-that-think-I-have/am-their-food, pull on the old ratty clothes I've fished out, wash my face in the puddle near my 'home,' go dumpster-diving for breakfast, then go about my day. A normal morning routine…for me at least. But I like it this way, and as long as my 'neighbour' (a.k.a. the creepy homeless guy who recently took up occupancy at the opposite end of the alley) doesn't leer at me while I'm going about my business or call me funny names like he sometimes does while drunk, then I'm good.

Of course, that kind of thing isn't really normal. Or I guess it is if you're going by homeless orphan standards, which I kind of am, but even then it's still kind of weird. Don't homeless orphans usually beg or steal for food and clothing? Oh well, I like my way better. Much less messy, and it doesn't attract any attention. After all, I don't want my 'toys' to be taken away or to get locked up so I can't 'play' anymore. That would be terrible, and what the adults would do to me… I don't want to think about it.

That's why I always have to be extra careful when I go about my day, especially when it's a day like today. For a lot of days, after I finish my routine, I might just sit around and sleep or wait for the butcher to throw out more food, or if my 'neighbour' is being a little too creepy then I might walk around and people-watch for a while to see if I can't find any potential 'playmates.' On other days, though, after I have a 'playmate' in mind, I have to busy myself preparing for our 'play date.'

You'd think it would be pretty simple – just sneak a 'toy' from the butcher's or take one I already have stored and then wait until nightfall. But it's more complicated than that. After all, our 'play date' has to be somewhere nice and quiet, where no one will interrupt our 'play,' and that can't really happen if we're in the city. What if we forget it's nighttime and start being really loud during our 'game'? We'd wake everybody up, and then we'd be in trouble! Or I'd be in trouble…same difference!

That's why I have to be careful. I have to make sure I plan everything just right. If I don't, I could get in trouble, and then…_then_…

…I really don't like adults.

I know I'm going to be one someday, but for now I don't ever want to grow up. I'm only thirteen years old, so at least it's still a long ways off for me, but when it happens, I swear I'm not going to be like those other adults. I'm going to be a good adult, who looks after kids like me who don't have a home, and who punishes all of the bad adults when they don't behave! I'll make sure they never do bad stuff again! I'll…I'll…I'll play games with them that are so super difficult that they'll keel right over and die!

… … … … … …okay that came out a little wrong. But you know what I meant!

Sigh…I guess I've got a long way to go until I turn into an adult. Which is a good thing, if you ask me, but at the same time it's kind of not…oh well. I guess all I can do for now is make sure everything is ready for my 'play date' later tonight. It can be a lot of work sometimes, getting ready for my 'play dates' – after all, I have to sneak into the butcher's, sharpen up my 'toys,' find a place in the woods I haven't used yet, dig a hole, cover it up, then return to the city and walk around the same general twenty-foot radius of my 'playmate.' No, I'm not a stalker. Stalking is for weird people with weird crushes or creepers who can't find anything better to do with their time, and I'm not weird or a creeper! I'm just, you know, kind of curious to see what their insides look like. But that's not creepy, so it doesn't make me a stalker! It makes me a _follower!_

…shut up, I'm sane. Mostly. If you can get past my choice of hobbies.

So that's where I am now, stal- _following_ my newest 'playmate.' Honestly, I think I chose a pretty good one this time, tall and kind of scowl-y like someone spat on his shoes and laughed about it as they ran away. I smirk as I swing my legs underneath the bench I'm sitting on, staring at the blond that would soon join the ranks of my other 'friends' that were now permanent residents of the neighbouring woodland.

The man I had now targeted was busy reading, sitting on a bench just like mine but on the opposite side of square, not looking happy but not looking any more pissed-off than his usual expression seemed to be. Seriously, who frowns this much? I'd been following him all morning already and hadn't seen him smile once. Maybe he was just having a bad day?

The blond I was watching shifted in his seat, suddenly, tearing his emerald eyes away from his book to take out a pocket watch and check the time. I couldn't hear what he said next, but from the sudden angrier-than-usual expression (helped along by those intimidating eyebrows of his – holy shiznets, they were huge!) and his dash to pack his book away and leave, I could tell that it was probably something colorful and indecent directed towards the time.

As the shaggy-haired man (teen? I wasn't good at guessing ages) packed his things and began a fast-paced walk in the opposite direction, I quickly got up myself and began following after him, taking care to stay a good distance away and out of sight. Wherever the guy was going, it must be pretty important, since he looked like he was trying to make it there by yesterday. As I trained my eyes on the frowning face of my quarry, green eyes looking ahead with irritated intensity, I couldn't help but smile and lick my lips.

This was going to be _fun,_ I decide, because seriously, a guy that grumpy-looking with such a holier-than-thou attitude just _had _to be fun to mess with. How could he not be? The only drawback, I realized, was that people like that tended not to last very long…

{~~[x]~~}

The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon when I chose to make my move.

I had been following my new 'playmate' since the mad dash of this morning (which ended up concerning some sort of book signing that I didn't pay any attention to), and honestly, I was starting to get a little tired. Seriously, who visits this many bookstores in one day? I didn't even see him buy any books!

But now all of that seemed to be over, at last. The guy had just returned from a twenty-minute long stint in yet another bookstore, the owner coming out behind him to change the 'open' sign to 'closed.' All along the street now, shops were beginning to close up for the night, not wanting to deal with midnight customers or the other dangers that lurked about after hours. The taverns could be left to deal with all of that.

As I watched the buildings slowly darken and people file out to find their way home, the light of the faded streetlamps guiding them through the darkness, I allowed myself a smile. Now, with all of the stores closed up, my 'playmate' had nowhere to go but home, which is where he seemed to be heading now. Too bad he would never make it there.

Lowering myself from the crate I had been sitting on, I slipped out of the grime-filled alley way and began after my prey, my shoeless feet making no sound on the cobblestones as I crossed the road to his side. I fell into a silent walk far behind him, making sure to stay near the wall in case I needed to duck quickly and avoid his gaze. After all, if he saw me before I could make a move, then he would be too suspicious to fall for it. And despite being kind of scrawny-looking, he was still a lot bigger than me…what if he chose to fight back? I would be in trouble…

A breeze flew by, petting me on the cheek, and I shivered. I had been a little smarter this time than before, making sure to wear a long-sleeve shirt and long socks since I didn't have any pants. I avoided white this time, going for a dark navy-blue for my shirt and socks and my usual khaki shorts, since it was the darkest colour I had. At least the blood wouldn't be so glaringly obvious this time, and I wouldn't have to be so incredibly careful when sneaking back home after tonight's 'game.' Even better, my shirt was long enough to hide the small 'toy' I kept wrapped in cloth and tied to my waist with a string, which I kept for just in case my newest 'friend' decided they didn't want to play anymore. And after all the trouble I went through to set this up, it would be really rude of them to refuse 'playing' with me, right?

My 'playmate' rounded a corner suddenly, stepping onto the drive that would later connect to the road his home was on. I smiled and veered off, dashing down the alley just before the corner and ran as fast as I could, trying to make it to the next street before him. Luckily for me, his street happened to be just two over from the one that led off into the woods, which would make it a whole lot easier to convince him to go there since it was close to his house. But for this to succeed, I had to be there before him, waiting for him.

I reached the street, coming out between two homes that were just three or four doors down from where I knew my prey to live. Barely even pausing to catch my breath, I started heading towards my left, to where the street and the previous road met at a quiet and dingy little street corner. I ran at a slower pace than before, careful not to trip or slide in my friction-hating socks, and soon came to a halt at the juncture of Darbury and Third. I crouched down next to the dirty brick building and slowly turned, peeking out to look down the street to where my prey was, already almost to the corner. I smiled crookedly. _Perfect._

The man that approached looked tired after a long day running about the city from one store to the other, even if (I noted with some annoyance) he didn't even buy anything. His previously pristine clothes were a little rumpled now, the white shirt and black vest wrinkling a little at the shoulders, the black slacks showing some scuff marks around the knees. His previously polished-to-a-shine dress shoes were also a little dirty now from walking the unclean streets, and the loose brown-leather satchel he carried with him hung low, seeming to droop. His eyes were half-closed.

I frowned. Was it just me, or was he looking a little worse for wear? He looked more than a little tired, actually, which kind of ticked me off since he did nothing but shop all day (for _nothing_). Plus, if he was tired he wouldn't able to 'play' as long, which _really_ irritated me! How dare he get tired and make my 'games' less fun!

I puffed out my cheeks childishly, watching as my worn-out prey neared the corner. Well, if he was going to be so difficult about it, then I would just have to make things even worse for him! I stood up, careful not to draw his attention, and backed up a little more into the shadows, slinking down until I was well out of sight. I could hear the echoing _clack clack_ of his shoes on the cobblestone, coming ever closer, ever louder. I could see him as he rounded the corner, scruffy blond hair turning a downcast yellowish shade as it was flooded by the lamp light. His half-lidded eyes stared straight ahead, not looking at the ground or the shadows, or the small child just barely hidden from sight. The man walked right past me, not even aware of my presence, too tired or too intent on getting home to realize that he wasn't alone. I grinned.

_Show time!_

As soon as I saw my 'playmate' was about ten feet ahead of me on the street, I dashed forward, running towards him and making as much sound as my socks would allow. For now was the time for him to notice my presence, to notice that he wasn't alone, to turn at the sound of padded footsteps and see me for the first time. I don't think he saw much, though, before I ran straight into him.

"Wh-What the- !"

I heard him shout in surprise as my tiny body tackled his, not quite toppling us over but certainly giving the man a shock and (I'd like to think) knocking the wind out of him a little. I felt him turn around, facing me now, probably staring down at me with a look of incredulous confusion on his face. I kept my head down and clung to the guy's vest, biting my tongue as hard as I could without drawing blood. The pain helped, and soon the tears came.

Crying on demand is a useful skill to have, especially when you're a child. I learned this a long time ago, during a harsh winter when the thin steel of the trash can I occupied wasn't enough to keep out the cold. I think I nearly died that year, but I was able to beg my way into the home of the township's doctor to stay for the winter. The doctor himself is a fairly shrewd man, miserly with a detached bedside manner, only accepting of me into his home because even he could not resist a crying and pleading child. I think he may have regretted his decision later, though, to accept such a quiet, hostile child into his home, who didn't talk or eat the food he sometimes offered. I avoided talking with him the entire time I stayed, just as I avoid talking with most people I don't intend to make my 'playmates.' We were strangers from beginning to end, an unspoken agreement between us that the only reason I was there in the first place was so that I would live through the winter, and the doctor, being the man he is, didn't care enough to change that. He didn't ask me to stay at the end of winter. I wouldn't have accepted even if he did.

It wasn't a story in which the poor orphan boy found a home with a caring individual. Honestly, I hate those stories. They're misleading and almost never happen in real life, and certainly not in the town I live in. But it still taught me an important lesson; when children cry, adults tend to freak out and are instantly willing to do almost anything to make them stop.

_Anything._

"Who the hell – …Oh God no."

He muttered in a distinctly accented voice as he caught a look at my face, already streaked with tears and looking, I hoped, almost pain-stricken. The small fists gripping my 'playmate's' vest and bag strap started to tremble, and I leaned towards him a little, as if I were about to collapse into him. I'd done this enough times to know what I looked like, like a lost little child who desperately needed someone's, _anyone's_, help, and the man I now clung to just happened to be the unlucky passerby. Or at least, that's what he would think. The truth, of course, was so far from this assumption it may as well have been reversed – as this man would soon realize, it was him that was lost. I knew exactly what I was doing. And I would enjoy every second of it, too…after my performance, of course.

Shaking, I sniffled a little, looking up at my prey with the largest, teary-est eyes I could manage, ready to start bawling like a child much younger than myself. Instantly, the look of mixed confusion and disdain present on his features morphed into one of trepidation, as if a small child coming up to him the middle of the night and crying were the worst things that could possibly happen to him right now. Ironically, it kind of was.

"No," The word came out probably more forcefully than my 'playmate' intended, holding up his hands in the universal sign of surrender, though the scowl kind of ruined the effect. Although it did kind of scare the crap out of me. Damn could that guy scowl! "No, don't do that. Don't even think about doing that."

"B-But…" My voice came out small and a little squeaky, and although I hate to admit it, it wasn't faked. Was he seriously demanding that I stop crying? He wasn't one of those heartless jerks that hated kids, was he? "But I…"

He shook his head, trying to back up a little, massive eyebrows furrowing. Would he try and run away? I hoped not, it would be a drag to have to hunt him down. "No. Stop that. I mean it, if you even _think_ about-"

I started crying in earnest.

And, not half a second later, my 'playmate' started to groan, the sound of which practically screamed and begged of the world the answer to the question, 'Why me?' It was actually pretty amusing.

Still, I ignored the long-suffering groan and buried my head into my prey's waist, wrapping my arms around him and continuing on with my act. My shoulders shook, and I could feel the man's chest rise and fall as he breathed out a long sigh. "Why me…" I heard him mutter, voicing the unspoken question he'd begged of the universe not long before, but then, after a few more seconds, I felt a warm sort of pressure on my left shoulder. I realized after a moment that it was his hand, awkwardly patting me in a rather weak attempt at comfort, something he obviously wasn't good at. Still, it felt kind of nice, and after a while I let myself quiet down a little, pretending, or maybe hoping, that that hand actually did provide some comfort to me.

"Shush now…" He whispered, and I was surprised at how low his voice could go. Wasn't it kind of nasally and accented just a minute ago? "I-It's alright…whatever it is, I'm sure it's fine…"

I took this as my cue to start talking, to lay the trap and bait that he was sure to fall for. "It w-won't be fi-ine…" I sniffled, tightening the hold I had on the back of his black vest. "M-My mother's going to k-kill me!" I snuggled further into his chest, as if doing so would protect me from whatever it was that wanted to hurt me. And it would. This man would, by the end of the night, make me feel much better. He would take the pain away. He would take it for himself.

The hand that had been patting me circled around my shoulders, and suddenly I was being held, though not in a loving or even particularly comforting way. No, it felt more like he was trying to protect me. From what? I didn't know the answer, so I just cried a little harder, hoping that by the end of this degrading act he'd be willing to do anything I asked of him, no matter how ridiculous. "Shh," He said, the low tone gone just as suddenly as it had come. "Calm down. I can't understand you if you're crying, lad. Hush."

Slowly, I calmed myself down, having gotten a little carried away with myself, as usual. It was hard trying to keep it all an act and yet remain convincing all at once, after all. Soon, though, my sobs quieted, and my shoulders began to still. My breathing became steady, broken only by the occasional sniffle or lingering hiccup. Just as my grip on him was beginning to slacken somewhat, both from the act and from exhaustion, the hand that was on my right arm (when had that gotten there?) reached up and cupped my cheek gently, making me shiver at the touch. It's not that his hands were cold or burning to the touch, or that they were sweaty or uncomfortable on my face. But they sent such a strange feeling through me, like the jittery aftershock of electrocution, and I wasn't sure if I wanted that feeling or not. It couldn't be healthy to feel electrocuted like that.

"Lad, look at me."

With a slight jolt I realized that the hand I'd just been pondering was tugging gently at my chin, trying to get me to look up at its owner. I did as the hand wanted, glancing up through watery eyes to meet the emerald gaze of my soon-to-be victim. I was a little surprised to find that the ever-present scowl that had been pervading the man's features throughout the day was, for once, not-present, in its place a more neutral and indifferent expression, yet with gentle undertones. Our eyes locked, and for a moment the man seemed caught between giving a comforting smile or his usual frown, and in the end managed to settle for a sort of grimace. I kind of wanted to laugh, but had a feeling that that would spoil what I had worked for up to now.

"What is your name?" My 'playmate' asked me, voice barely above a murmur. I gulped and gave another sniffle.

"Alfred..." I replied. "Alfred Jones..."

To my credit, I didn't lie. I had no reason to, and honestly, I thought he should know. It wouldn't be decent of me to send a man to his grave without letting him know who killed him, after all. And to the man's credit, he actually smiled, ending whatever internal debate he had been having over the action moments before.

"Alfred," He said, and I thought I saw a glint of humourous mirth in his eyes. "It's a nice name. Like Alfred the Great, yes?"

I gave a frown. "Who?" I asked, and tilted my head. I'd never heard of anyone called 'Alfred the Great' before, and I wasn't sure what to make of this stranger likening me to someone I didn't know about. Was he making fun of me?

But the man shook his head, the smile slowly fading from his face as he did so. I tried not to miss it. "Never mind that," He said, and he sounded very serious now, as his eyes bore into me. "Tell me, Alfred, what's wrong? Why are you out here all alone at night, crying like you've lost your best friend? You haven't, have you?"

He seemed to add the last part as an afterthought, thrown in when the possibility of it being true arose. I shook my head to it though, unwrapping one of my hands from him to swipe at the drying crocodile tears on my face. "N-No, that's not it...I haven't lost anybody..." I said. I refrained from mentioning that I didn't have anybody _to _lose, instead moving along fluidly to the motions of my preordained actions, looking up at him with despair and loss in my young eyes that I hoped would look true enough in the darkness of the late-night streets. "But, I...I lost s-something else..."

My prey cocked an eyebrow in interest (Wait, why are his eyebrows a different colour from his hair? Are they fake? Like, are they tattoos maybe, or painted on for effect? Or maybe they're caterpillars, or pipe cleaners, or something equally as fuzzy and black that he attached to his face to appear more intimidating? What are those things?!), and after a moment gave a small nod for me to go on.

"And what was it?" He asked. I could have smiled, but again, the whole effect thing was in play, so externally celebrating my anticipated victory was out of the question. Instead I settled for another sniffle and a lowering of my gaze. "I lost my shoes..." I muttered, low enough to where I knew he wouldn't hear me. And sure enough, he tilted his head down, a look of slight confusion on his face.

"Pardon? I didn't catch that, lad," He said. I looked up at him, blinking a bit owlishly to make sure that my eyes would still have some tears in them, ready to spill over if my prey wasn't completely compliant.

"I said, I lost my shoes." And this time, he most certainly heard me.

"_Shoes_?"

I could hear the underlying incredulousness in his voice, made apparent when he shifted his hands to my shoulders and twisted around to the side to get an actual view of my feet. Sure enough, I was missing my shoes. Then again, I was always missing those, since the tailor wasn't a cobbler, though I was starting to think that he should probably try his hand at it. He obviously wasn't doing well as a tailor. That aside, my 'playmate' didn't need to know that I had never owned a pair of shoes in my life - all he needed to know was that I didn't have any at the moment. Any other details I spun were harmless. Well, in the short term, they were.

The blond man looked back at me with a mix of surprise, confusion, and curiousity, which was exactly what I needed of him. "And if I may ask," He began, "Why, exactly, are your shoes missing?"

I gave another little sniffle then, purely for effect, before launching into a story I had told many, many times before. "Well, you see," I started, and then took a long, deep breath. "It was kind of nice today so I decided I wanted to go out and play, yeah? So my mom tells me I can, as long as I stay in the town, 'cause going outside is pretty dangerous, she says. So I went outside and looked for some place to play, but I'd already been everywhere around the city, and just going to the same old places would get boring! The woods outside the town is the only place I _haven't_ played in yet, and when I realized this I thought, 'Surely this once won't matter, will it? So long as mom doesn't find out!'

"So, I sneaked off into the woods around noon or so to look for something cool to do. I roamed around a little while, and it was kinda nice, but it was also kinda boring, so I was thinking of going back pretty soon after. But when I turned around to go back home there was this big ol' black bird, sitting in a tree, staring at me! I thought it was kinda creepy and I don't really like birds, so I was gonna throw a stone or a stick at it or something, but I only found pebbles and twigs, and that bird was _huge!_ It was, like, a giant owl or something! There was no way a pebble or a twig would harm it, and what if it just made it mad? Then I'd be in big trouble!

"So then, I got this absolutely brilliant idea to throw my shoes at it! Ya know, like with those strings with the rocks tied at both ends that people used to use to hunt down animals with? What were those things called again? Ehh, who cares. But anyway, I thought I'd take my shoes off and tie the laces up and make it like those string-rock-thingies to throw at the bird, and knock it out of the tree! But when I threw my shoes at it, the stupid thing just flew away, and then my shoes got stuck on one of the branches!

"I tried and tried for hours, but I'm too little to climb that tree, and then it got to be sunset and I was supposed to be going home but I knew I just couldn't go home without my shoes, or else my mom would ask me where they were and then I'd have to tell her and she'd get really mad at me and beat me and make me stay home for weeks and weeks and weeks without being able to play!

"But I knew that was better than losing my only pair of shoes and having to go barefoot, so I was going to go home and get my mom to help me get my shoes, but on the way I saw you and I thought you'd be able to help me instead and then I could go home with my shoes and my mom wouldn't know and I wouldn't get in trouble and then everything would turn out okay just like in all those fairytales and stuff, only without the princesses!" I paused in my rant, catching my breath and looking up at the guy with a hopeful smile. "You get it now?"

The man stared at me.

And stared.

And stared.

...I don't think I'd ever gotten such a blank look before, from anybody. Not even dead people. It was kind of creepy.

I frowned a little, scrunching up my nose in a perplexed gesture. Usually, after I got through with my story, people would either laugh it off and ask for a shorter version, interrupt me somewhere in the middle to make me get to the point, or give me a kind of disgusted look and ask me 'what the hell I was high on.' Whatever that meant. But this guy just kind of stared at me, no expression, no response, no nothing. Just a look. He didn't even _blink_ at me.

Suddenly, I started to internally panic. Oh God, what if I had broken him? I never stopped to think that just talking could break somebody, but what if this guy had a tiny brain or something and all those words just completely overloaded the system? Dammit, I wanted a playmate, not an unresponsive doll! Those were for _girls!_

Nervously, I shifted on my feet, staring up into the unmoving face of my supposed 'prey.' I stepped back a little, bring up the hand that had still been on his waist to hover in front of the guy's face, waving a little. "Um, hey..." I said, and I started snapping my fingers. "C'mon, wake up! Wake up already! Oh gosh, I didn't actually break you, did I?"

It was like a magic 'On' button had been pressed, and suddenly the guy in front of me blinked, then shook his head, scowling at my fingers. "Stop that, git," He said, sounding a little irritated now. "I'm not broken, nor any other ridiculous idea you have. I was merely...processing...the rather _lengthy_ amount of information you had given me..."

"Oh," I said, then gave him a look. "What's 'processing' mean?"

"Processing? Oh, well, generally it means a series of actions, changes or functions bringing about a result, but when applied to information it means to bring into understanding or-" He caught the blank look I was giving him. "-Never mind. It doesn't matter. Suffice it to say that I was letting myself catch up to…that…erm, well, anyways." He coughed into the back of his hand. "So, the basic gist of what you're saying is that you threw your shoes up into a tree and couldn't get them back down? That's the problem?"

I nodded my head eagerly, kind of impressed that he was able to get it on the first time. That 'processing' thing must really work! "Yeah! And if I can't get them back down, then my mom'll find out and I'll get in a lot of trouble, since they're my only pair! But I can't get them down myself…" I looked up at him, widening my eyes and blinking them a bit to make the tears appear again, trembling my lower lip in a practiced expression of worry and fear. "You'll…you'll help me, won't you?" I asked him in a small voice. "I can't get them myself, and I don't know who else to ask…please, please help me! I don't want to get in trouble with my mom again! I don't want to…" I blinked, and let the tears run down my already streaked face. I must have looked like a dirty street rat or something, not that I wasn't one, but still.

For a second, I thought my chosen prey would refuse me. He looked troubled that I was crying again and couldn't seem to meet my eye, staring off in a sidelong direction instead while giving an uncomfortable grimace. I could already tell that crying children really wasn't something he could deal with, but I suppose that just made my job easier. He bit his lip and worried it a bit, looking like he was having another one of those internal debates. Was he that indecisive? Or maybe he'd figured out that I'd been lying? I couldn't really tell, and the fact that I couldn't irked me a bit. I was supposed to be the one that knew what was going on, not him! Who did this guy think he was?

I resisted the urge to give him a scowl of my own, instead lowering my head and sniffling as forlornly as I could. At the same time I reached up and gently grabbed one of the hands that were still resting on my shoulder. Even if he did refuse, there was absolutely no way I was going to let him go. I wouldn't let him ruin my fun.

When I touched his hand, though, he gave a little jolt, and his head jerked towards me. Our eyes met again, and for a moment I was taken aback by his expression. He looked surprised. That, and a little angry, too, as if I'd done something wrong. Had I? Was he mad that I had grabbed his hand? Was that another thing that adults thought children 'shouldn't do'?

I shrunk back a little on instinct, forcing myself to keep staring into his face. The last time I had made an adult angry by doing something 'forbidden' to children (a list so long and restrictive I have made a point to ignore it completely), they'd screamed at me and hit me and threw me out into the snow, saying they wouldn't let me back in until I'd prayed for forgiveness. I didn't know what he'd meant by that, to pray, but I knew that I should probably avoid putting matchsticks in the cat's fur from then on. Or maybe it was just because they were lit? I don't think the cat liked that part much. Actually, I didn't really see that cat afterwards…I wonder what happened to it?

I don't know when it had happened, but at some point I'd let my thoughts get away from me, and by the time I reigned them in I realized two things; one was that my 'playmate's' hands had dropped from my shoulders, with one still holding onto my own; the other was that he was saying something to me.

"-suppose it won't take too long, as long as we hurry, and- Are you even listening to me, Alfred?"

I jumped a little in surprise, a burning sensation heating my cheeks to a light pink colour that I happened to despise. "Oh, uhm, y-yeah! Sort of…what were you saying?" I asked. I pushed down the urge to swallow in embarrassment as the man flicked his eyes upward, like he was keeping from rolling them, sighing at my lack of attention.

"I said, I'll help you get your shoes."

I blinked, wondering what he meant. _Shoes..?_ Oh, of course! I'd been so distracted I'd forgotten about the lie…

It took me a second to regain my senses before I broke into a wide, open-mouthed grin, a carved facsimile of joy. "R-Really?!" I asked, filling the word with pretend hope and energy. He nodded, mouth pressed thin, twitching with forced neutrality. That was all the prompt I needed before latching onto him once more, pressing myself to his chest in eager cheer, not all of which was pretend. "Oh, thank you sir, thank you!" I yelled. And I really was grateful. After all, he was being so kind, agreeing to play with me like this…

My prey stiffened slightly at the sudden contact, but after a second he seemed to relax, placing a light pat on my shoulder. "Really, it's nothing…" He mumbled, nudging me a little to let go. "But we should be going if we're to find your shoes. Much later, and it will be too dark to see anything."

I nodded, still smiling with false sweetness, and allowed him to take my head and lead me in the opposite direction of his home, towards the woodland that was my playground. With his back turned and his sight away from me, that smile soon slipped into a predatory grin, the mask I'd kept on falling away to reveal the monster underneath. I had him in my grasp, almost quite literally at the moment, and I knew that I had already won. He was trapped, this playmate of mine, and to think that he didn't even realize it yet made me want to giggle. I refrained though, partly because it would draw attention to the illusion, partly because another thought occurred to me that I found a more immediate and interesting use for.

"Hey, mister?" I spoke up suddenly. My prey turned his head, an eyebrow quirked in my direction.

"Yes?"

"What's your name?"

My playmate stopped then, brow raised, confusion quirking his features. "I didn't tell you?" He said. I shook my head, and he huffed. "Well that was forgetful of me…"

"It's fine!" I said brightly, slipping my wrist out of his grip and grabbing onto his hand instead. "You can just tell me right now, right?"

I gave what I hoped to be a cheerful and encouraging smile, and the man seemed to relax. "Yes, I suppose…," He said, then turned and began to walk again, his hand still clasped in mine. I was surprised to find that that hand was soft and delicate, like a lady's might be, and I couldn't help but think that this man, as kind as he was, probably hadn't worked an honest day in his life. But despite that sneering inward thought, I still enjoyed the warmth that hand gave to me. It was unfamiliar, and discomforting at times, but in the cold of the night I was willing to welcome it.

The hand that held mine seemed to squeeze lightly, as if letting me know that its owner was alive, and warm, and welcoming me too.

"My name is Arthur," Its owner spoke. "Arthur Kirkland."

I held Arthur's hand, smiling something close to genuine.

_Arthur Kirkland…my newest 'friend' to dissect._

{~~[X]~~}

**...I will continue this...eventually...maybe if I get enough feedback...um...please? ;w;**


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